


Complaining

by Omeganixtra



Series: The Sin Bin - Kink Meme Collection [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dragon Age Kink Meme, Ear Fetish, Explixit Sex, Extensive Foreplay, F/F, F/M, Fingering, Multi, Oral Sex, Prompt Fic, Threesome - F/F/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 22:06:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18397283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Omeganixtra/pseuds/Omeganixtra
Summary: While drunk, the Inquisitor complains to Hawke and Warden Alistair about never being offered a threesome with Zevran and Isabela like Hawke and the Hero were offered back in the day. Something has to be done.





	Complaining

**Author's Note:**

> I just wrote over 7500 words utter filth for the internet and I don't know how to feel about it

It’s the night before they have to prepare for the upcoming march towards the Western Approach, on Adamant Fortress, and Ellana is _ridiculously_ drunk.

Honestly, all she had intended was to join in on the festivities with her soldiers, distract herself from the climbing anxiety that the impending march and siege equipment and battle and prepa—by the Creators, Cullen’s ramblings were finally getting to her if she was beginning to think about their siege equipment in her spare time.

Somehow the promise of her indulging in _just one drink_ has somehow turned into _several_ and her location has changed from sitting quietly with an ale at the bar to reclining against one of her friends in one of the closed booths that Cabot insisted they build him.

Someone has shoved something fiercely alcoholic into her hand and she can’t stop snort-laughing at the jokes Warden Alistair keeps on telling like there’s no tomorrow.

She’s happy.

And also very annoyed at the same time— _urgh_ , feelings can be so very annoying and jumbled up when you’re drunk.

Somewhere behind them Maryden is stringing up for “ _Sera was never_ ” and a bout of cheers from nearby nearly makes the entire tavern vibrate. Varric, Sera and Blackwall leave the booth to instead join in on the dance that’s starting up in the middle of the tavern, leaving Ellana alone with the Champion and Warden.

That’s fine. She doesn’t mind. There’s plenty of stuff to talk about now that her gossipy friends have wandered off.

It’s fine.

_Completely_ fine.

“Y’know what I envy about you most, Hawke?” she grumbles and gestures with her beverage towards the Champion. She ignores how some of it spills over the edge, soaking her sleeve.

Hawke cackles at the sight of the _very_ inebriated elf in front of him and leans back, nursing an ale of his own. “No, I’m afraid I do not. Would the illu—illustra— " _Illustrious_!” is shouted from the dance-floor —Thank you, Varric—illustrious Inquisitor deign to enlighten me?”

“Threesomes!”

“Threesomes?”

Alistair’s newest attempt on a shitty joke dies out as his eyes bulges ever so slightly. The red flush that has dusted his cheeks because of the alcohol deepens when he hears Ellana’s uncensored exclamation.

“Yes, threesomes! With Isabela! And Zevran!”

If possible, Hawke’s face shifts to a shit-eating grin as he looks between Alistair and the Inquisitor, “Oh, _do_ go on, my dear.”

Alistair is suddenly finding the contents of his mug _very_ interesting.

“I know they propositioned you, Hawke, back in the day, don’t deny it! Leliana told me it happened for the Hero as well during the Blight— _don’t you fucking dare snort at me, Alistair_!”

“Sweetling, you’re _abysmally_ inebriated right now.”

“I _know_! That’s why I’m telling you this!”

Hawke tips back his mug and head to drain the last of his drink before raising it high above his head to summon a serving wench. He’s laughing uncontrollably the entire time, causing small spills to stain the front of his tunic. Alistair has regressed into snorts as well by now.

“Don’t laugh at me, you ingrates! My sex life has been non-existent since this whole shitfest started! Let a girl have a fantasy!”

Ellana’s furious pout only makes both of them go at it even harder. It’s beginning to seriously annoy her by now. She takes a large swig of ale, curses when some of it spills down on her own shirt and slaps Alistair’s hand away when he reaches across the table to hand her a small handkerchief.

“You’re telling me,” Hawke laugh-sobs beside her, shoulders heaving as he wraps his arm around her, “that the pious, little Inquisitor is quite unamused by the fact that she’s never been propositioned by two of the biggest sex fiends to ever walk Thedas.”

“Have either of you _met_ the Iron Bull?” Ellana scrunches up her nose at Hawke’s words, completely missing the point. “How can those two be _worse_ than him?”

“Oh, trust me,” Alistair groans from across the table. “They’re worse. _They’re so much worse_.”

“I’ll see that before I believe it!”

The rest of the evening simply devolves from there on out—Ellana getting much, _much_ drunker, Alistair’s jokes getting progressively worse, even more so after Blackwall and Varric joins the three of them while Sera continues her antics by attempting to hang from the rafters, and Hawke… well, Hawke simply sits there beside the Inquisitor, a thoughtful look shot her way through the drunk haze that otherwise permeates the entire tavern.

* * *

Everything that happens in the tavern is forgotten the next morning when Ellana wakes with a headache that feels strong enough to split her head in two every time she moves.

She groans and turns as carefully as she can towards the side of her bed. A small basin filled with a bit of water sits innocently on the stone floor and she takes a moment to say a blessing to whoever thought of putting the basin there before she promptly throws up.

It’s the small things in life that she’s come to appreciate here.

Back home with the Clan, Ellana would have been met with disappointed, pitying glares from Keeper Deshanna before being put to work. Here she is still met with the disappointed look from Josephine, but at least she can hide behind the fact that she’s stressed out about the march on Adamant.

It is only around midday that Ellana finally emerges from her tower, her headache still present but a bit more tolerable, scowling at every bright spot of daylight that finds its way inside her fortress as she heads towards the library.

She needs company. Tevinter Mage-company to be exact, because if there’s one thing Dorian has perfected over the years of partying away in Tevinter, it is how to fix a hangover.

Murmuring a greeting to Solas as she stumbles towards the stairs, ignoring the raised eyebrow and soft chuckle she catches before ascending towards the upper floor, she nearly weeps with joy when she sees Dorian in the midst of several books. A tray of bread, cheeses, fruits, milk and sweet juice sits on a small table beside him.

“Have I ever told you that I adore you and am very close to worshipping the very ground you walk on?”

Dorian looks up, mirth dancing in his eyes. “It never hurts to hear a sentiment like that one repeated, my dear. As if we haven’t scandalized the Inquisition enough, don’t you think?”

“Truthful words,” she sighs and falls down into the plush armchair behind him before she immediately attacks the tray. “Dorian, you are a _saint_.”

“Well, I do try.”

“Keep doing this and I might just propose.”

“Now, you know that I love you, but I am afraid that Bull would be rather annoyed. I as well, for that matter.”

“ _Fenedhis_ , you’ve bested my plan of seducing you through compliments.”

“Oh, do not stop those on my account, Ellie,” Dorian smirks as he snaps a book closed and leans back against one of the bookshelves. “But now that I have you here, there is actually something that I have been meaning to ask you.”

“What is it?” Ellana looks up from her assortment of foodstuffs, rubbing a few remaining crumbs of bread away from the side of her mouth.

“Word on the grapevine is that you got _outrageously_ drunk last night.”

She groans and lets her head fall back against the armchair. “Dorian, please don’t mention—”

“Now, now,” he interrupts her, finger raised in admonishment, “I simply wish to know if you did something scandalous. Hawke _was_ looking rather self-assured this morning.”

“I—what… Dorian, what do you mean?”

She has a sneaking suspicion but would rather he admits to it himself.

Dorian sighs at her antics and sends her a glare. “Would you really have me spell it out for you in such a crass manner? Maker’s balls, Ellana, I’m asking if you slept with the man.”

“What? No!”

“Hmm, curious,” Dorian murmurs and looks genuinely surprised, “I swear, the Champion looked ever so smug this morning when he and Varric went upstairs to the crow-station.”

“The crow-station?”

“Apparently there were letters to be sent and wages to be collected. Someone was betting on whether or not you could hold your liquor.”

“They did not!”

“Oh, they did too,” Dorian cackles. “It is not as if you were making it hard either, from what I heard.”

Ellana throws a grape at him and blows the mage a raspberry when he chucks it right back at her.

* * *

Days pass.

The march on Adamant draws closer.

Ellana is buried in work, troop movements, training, convincing Varric to write a new chapter of his trashy romance novel for Cassandra and trying not to lose her sanity.

The night at the tavern is buried beneath the faint memory of embarrassment, of Alistair’s shitty jokes and Hawke’s horrible, horrible grin.

She wakes at the crack of dawn, works furiously throughout the entire day and only sleeps long after the sun has dived behind the mountain ranges. When one of her friends expresses concern, she waves them off with the promise of taking a nap or eating an extra snack or two, but even those small things aren’t enough for her to keep up the level of energy that all of her tasks are requiring of her.

It is only midday and she is on her way up for one of the promised naps in order to placate a rather concerned Josephine. Her head is achy, her back tense and her muscles feel like they’re all simultaneously on fire whenever she shifts them up and down in order to unsuccessfully ease the tension from them. She stumbles up her stairs, waves at the guard stationed outside the hallway leading to her quarters and mumbles something about her not being disturbed for the next few hours before disappearing inside her rooms.

Perhaps it is the fact that she’s tired. Perhaps it is because of the blinding light that filters in through her windows. Nevertheless, Ellana barely has time to take the last step of her stairs before she is assaulted by a myriad of sensations.

The warm, heady scent of burning firewood and flowery oils fill her nostrils Her room is surprisingly dark as all the curtains have been drawn, with only her fireplace to lighten the entire room with a faint, orangey warm glow. Out of the corner of her eye, Ellana spots the big copper tub that Josephine procured for her within the first week of arriving at Skyhold is standing in the middle of the room, faint steam rising from the water within. However, what draws her attention immediately are the two shapes resting on her bed.

“Inquisitor! How wonderful that you could finally join us!”

Her mouth opens and closes. She wants to speak, to say something—she really, really does—but nothing comes out as she stares at the two people laying there on her bed as if absolutely _nothing_ is wrong whatsoever.

One of them—by the Dread Wolf, that is Zevran Arainai, her mind whispers—rises and swings his legs over the side of her bed before sauntering towards her with a goblet of wine in one hand and a winning smile on his lips. He stops before her and bows, grasping at her hand with his free one and bends his head to kiss it when he rises from the bow.

Ellana’s mouth dries instantly.

“Zevran, no scaring the poor girl! She looks as if she’s ready to bolt, the poor thing!” the other person, a woman from the sound of her voice, on her bed drawls. At this point Ellana has a pretty good idea of who that other person is, but her mind keeps short circuiting with Zevran being as close as he is.

Ellana feels the telltale warmth of her cheeks that signals a fierce blush has spread across her face. Zevran chuckles and releases her hand, taking a step back to give her at least the illusion of personal space.

“Ah, but Isabela, this is the first time I have met the rumored Inquisitor,” Zevran says and turns his head slightly to look back at the pirate on Ellana’s bed. “First impressions are quite important, yes?”

“Yes, because that worked out so well the last time you looked on a pretty, little blonde elf, didn’t it?” the pirate snickers before turning to pour herself a goblet of wine.

“Silence, you wicked woman,” Zevran admonishes before sipping from his own goblet and placing it on the top of the rail beside Ellana’s staircase. “If we are not careful it will be you who will scare her away, not I.”

“Don’t listen to him, kitten,” Isabela calls from the bed and shoots Ellana a cheeky wink from where she is reclining against the headboard. “He’s a bad influence,” she continues as she too slides off the bed and walks towards the two elves.

Ellana still hasn’t regained the power of speech, it seems.

“Tell me, Ellana, what do you want?” Zevran murmurs as he steps closer, the tip of his finger lifting her chin to make her look directly into his eyes. “I hear you have been rather… _vocal_ about your wishes to others. Why not tell the two of us now that we are here, no?”

“I—I don’t…” Ellana stammers and she feels as if her tongue is swelling inside her mouth, makes her unable to answer as her blush intensifies and she begins to fidget. Isabela disappears somewhere behind her, out of her line of sight, and had this been anywhere else, or any other situation, for that matter, Ellana would be tense and ready to fight.

“There is no shame here,” Zevran says quietly as if the woman in front of him is not acting like a stammering fool. “Neither of us have any malicious intensions here, of that I can assure you.”

“Poor thing,” Isabela sighs from somewhere behind her and Ellana starts slightly when two warm, slightly calloused hands wrap themselves around her shoulders, rubbing soft circles into her pale flesh and slowly working towards easing the tension from her tense muscles. “Oh, kitten, you’re all worked up back here. That ought to be something the two of us can fix quite easily.”

The soft press of lips against her skin is a foreign sensation to Ellana, but not an unwelcome one as she feels her eyelids begin to flutter from the pleasure of the simple massage. A soft groan escapes her before she can stop it and her eyes fly open immediately when a deep chuckle emanates from the man in front of her. His eyes are dark, probably what some of the women from her Clan would describe as ‘smoldering’.

“A massage first, I believe, and afterwards we shall see where the afternoon leads us, yes?” Zevran asks and all Ellana can do is give him a dazed nod before she is dragged with the two of them towards the bed.

They push her down to sit.

Zevran kneels before her to wrangle off her boots while Isabela toys with the front of her shirt, slowly popping one button after the other until her tunic is off and all that’s barring their view of her body is her binder. There is a moment where Isabela toys with the edge of the soft material but a sudden tense from Ellana has her fingers dance away a moment later to instead lavish attention on her stiff shoulders instead. Ellana breathes, or at least tries to, as she attempts to focus on both of her attendants, but it’s hard. Where Isabela’s fingers are firm against her shoulders, kneading the muscles into pliancy, Zevran is all soft touches and teasing. As soon as her boots are off his fingers press lightly against one of her shins, moving down towards her foot where he makes quick work of the socks she is wearing before pressing slightly harder into the sole of her feet with both hands.

Another groan escapes her, this time a little louder.

“Your hips, kitten,” Isabela murmurs against her ear, eases Ellana back to lie flat on her bed before moving to unbuckle her belt and the soft tights. Dutifully, Ellana raises her hips when Isabela motions for her compliancy and soon enough she’s free of them too.

All she is wearing is her binder and her smalls.

It’s freeing, somehow.

She’s almost completely naked now, and they’re not. It’s not as frightening an experience as she thought it would be, but that might just be the Dalish in her talking.

“So beautiful,” Zevran murmurs and she feels rougher lips press against her kneecap. It tickles a little bit, enough for her to let a quick giggle escape, and she hears two pairs of laughter shortly after.

“Tickles,” she rasps, glances up to watch Isabela’s lips spread in a wicked grin.

“Time for you to turn around, my dear,” Zevran says, his voice quiet and smooth like that Orlesian velvet Josephine has a tendency to favor and _Creators_ but she could keep him for days here, doing nothing but talk to her in that soft, controlled manner.

Something like that ought to be arrangeable.

Isabela helps Zevran turn her over on her stomach, her hands lingering briefly before they move down her arms to caress the skin there, follows the lines of June’s _vallaslin_ curve around her arms with gentle, gentle fingertips.

Ellana could get lost in all of these sensations.

The small _pop_ of a cork being removed from a bottle catches her attention before slickened, slightly sticky hands spread come into contact with her back.

_Oil_ , her mind whispers, _for the massage_.

Hard muscle slips over her body and pins her lower half down.  A glance to the side with drowsy eyes reveals Zevran sitting on top of her, but resting most of his weight on his own legs instead of weighing her down completely. Only enough for her not to love too much around—not that she’d ever, _ever_ want to.

“Isabela, if you would be so kind as to inform the councilors that the Inquisitor has retired for today?” Zevran calls out, almost absentmindedly as his oil-slickened hands rub over Ellana’s back.

“You’re excluding me from having fun?” Isabela’s pout can be heard in her tone of voice and for a moment Ellana has the notion to sit up and ask her to stay, to say ‘fuck the council’ and just let her stay here but then Zevran presses down on something that has pleasure fill her from top to toe and all that escapes her is a ragged keen.

“You will have your turn for fun later,” Zevran huffs and lifts a hand from Ellana’s back—and what in Elgar’nan’s name is he doing?! Get that hand back on her skin _immediately_ —to wave at the pirate. Isabela scowls at him, although it is only in jest, before she bends down to press her lips against Ellana’s temple. Her lips linger, no doubt tastes the sweat that has begun to drape itself over all of Ellana’s body from the heat and the close proximity with Isabela and Zevran, but then she slips from the bed, saunters over to the low couch with swaying hips and grabs her boots before she heads down the stairs.

“Have fun!” Isabela calls up to the two of them before the sound of the door closing reaches them, and then they’re alone.

She’s alone.

With Zevran Arainai.

Creators help her.

It starts out quite innocently, Zevran sticking to massaging the ‘safe’ areas of her body—her back, her shoulders, arms, her sides. Every so often he finds a knot hidden beneath her skin and he works it loose, hands and fingers so wonderfully skilled in making her a big pile of pliable, elven goo.

She barely even notices when his fingers slip beneath her binder, when they tease her sides and occasionally brushes against the underside of her breasts. The continued mantra of up and down and rub and press and knead is addictive and pacifying in a way she has _never_ experienced before.

“You… are quite skilled at this,” she groans, the sentence ending in a mewl when he gently teases loose another of the knots in her back and shoulders.

“As I ought to be after so many years in an Antivan whorehouse,” Zevran rumbles on top of her, his voice sending vibrations down throughout her entire body. “Anything else would be deeply unsatisfactory, in my own, personal opinion.”

His fingers are beginning to move away from her upper back and shoulders, lingers on the small of her back and around the upper edge of her smalls. There’s a pattern to his movements, how he only dips his fingers beneath the soft cloth to chase more of her skin after thoroughly exploring the small of her back and teasing around her sides. Sometimes he lets a finger curl around her side to tease at the edges of her stomach, dips into the v of her hips, but never for longer than a fleeting second.

It’s almost enough to give a girl a complex.

“Isabela’s taking her time,” Ellana mutters, letting out a whine afterwards when his fingers once more tease her sides, almost dips down to her mound but flees again after a few seconds.

“She’ll get her own turn and when she does, I will enjoy watching the two of you dance around between the sheets,” he’s rumbling again now, lips so close to her ear that she can sense his heady breath against them.

When his lips wrap around the tip of one of her ears and _sucks_ , Ellana’s world goes white and the sound she lets out would have her beet-red from embarrassment, had this been any other place and any other situation. Her hips buck wildly for a moment, pressing against Zevran’s crotch as she draws up her arms and lets her hands tangle in the white sheets draped beneath her. The groan that escapes Zevran this time goes straight from her ears to her crotch, and her thighs tense ever so slightly from the tingles of a familiar ache that slowly begins to gather there.

“Inquisitor, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to seduce me,” he’s rubbing his nose along the outer rim of her ears now, hands having stopped the massage and instead just lying on top of her smalls, his thumbs pressing into her rear through the cloth.

A breathless laughter escapes her as she wiggles her hips slightly, enough for a small amount of friction between the two of them.

Zevran’s thumbs dig in harder.

He hooks them into the cloth, drags it down and this time she doesn’t tense up, instead lets him do as he damn well pleases. Her hands slowly release from the sheets and moves to rid herself of the now-infernal binder. There’s a moment where Zevran moves off her person, and she knows that it is only so that he can remove her smalls completely, but it’s long enough for her to miss the firm, consistent touch he has been spoiling her with for so long now.

She has no idea how long they have been at this by now, how long Isabela has been gone. It’s disorienting, exhilarating, _amazing_.

Then, the smalls are gone and she’s thrown the binder somewhere on the ground behind her. Zevran’s weight returns on top of her, but he is pushing her forward so that he can rest lower on her legs now. His fingers return to her flesh, kneads into the firmness of her rear and further down, down, down until he is skimming the skin of her thighs.

He stills. She whines. He doesn’t move.

“If I overstep a line you must tell me immediately, my dear.”

His sudden bout of seriousness is sobering, but not unwelcome.

She nods, twists her head and looks up at him before repeated the nod.

The seriousness that dominates his face transforms into a lurid grin.

“Wonderful!”

Where his fingers were hesitant before, now they are bold.

Fingertips, calloused from years and years of training, delve between her thighs, spreads them enough for her sex to be bared, and Ellana lets out another keen when cool air hits her overly heated body.

Those clever, clever fingers ghost along the edges of her sex, softly caresses her labia without ever pressing too hard against her, and it is driving her insane. She wants stimulation, she wants to be _touched_ , _damn it_!

“Now that is just cruel, Zev,” Isabela’s voice drawls from behind both Zevran and Ellana. She saunters into view much like she left some time ago, hips swaying, but now she’s holding a bottle of wine in one hand.

“You sure took your time,” Zevran says, fingers slipping ever so slightly closer to where she wants to be touched.

Ellana lets out a frustrated groan when she tries to move but finds her hips firmly held down.

“None of that, my sweet,” the dratted elf is purring into her ear before his attention is taken by Isabela once more. “Did you take care of business?”

“Indeed I did,” Isabela grins and falls onto the bed, takes a swig of the bottle before smacking her lips loudly. “The Inquisitor is not to be disturbed for the rest of the day seeing as she has been oh-so-stressed for the past few days.”

“Plenty of time, it would seem.”

“Indeed,” Isabela’s grin, from what Ellana can see, at least, can only be described as _filthy_. “Now, stop being such a damn tease and give the poor girl some satisfaction.”

“So bossy,” he’s shaking his head above her, of that Ellana is certain, but she makes an agreeing noise and once more tries to shuffle her hips, only to be refused yet again.

The agreeing noise turns into groan.

“Would you like this, my dear Inquisitor?” Zevran’s voice is close to her ear once more and she feels lips press against her shoulder blades. “Would you like my fingers to touch you? Would you like for me to fill you up, one finger at a time, until you cannot take any more and will be left sobbing for a reprieve?”

Ellana whines.

A knee is placed between her thighs before she can close them to ease the pressure that is building up steadily between them and the whine is extended.

Arousal is beginning to take over her body and mind, drapes a heady veil over everything she can sense as that oh-so-familiar ache between her legs begins to pulse, faster and faster. Zevran’s teasing touches has done nothing to quell it, and the words he is spewing only makes the pulse go faster and faster and _faster_. Wetness begins to leak from her, she can _feel_ it, and it is maddening to not be able to do _anything_ about it.

“Look at her, Zevran,” Isabela coos, her hands caressing Ellana’s flushed cheeks, “She is absolutely delightful.”

“Oh yes,” Zevran nods his agreement, teeth peeking out to gently bite along the shell of Ellana’s ear. “Yes, she is.”

Finally, _fucking finally_ , Ellana feels a finger press against her sex, find her aching opening and gently slip inside. The amount of teasing and foreplay has her well lubricated, and Zevran meets no resistance as he lets his finger slip into her cunt. His thumb seeks downwards, finds her equally aching clit and gently rubs it. The dual sensation has her jerk in his grasp, has her buck her hips and finally feel them free. A rocking motion of Zevran’s hand against her sex distracts her long enough for Isabela’s hand to abandon her cheeks and instead hold her down proper, so she cannot move her upper body.

Zevran’s free hand gets a firm grip on her hips, pulls on them, _hard_ , and has her rear raised in the air, his finger still buried inside of her. The angle is different, makes it feel like he is going deeper than he already is, but the pressure on her clit is consistent and helps her build towards the orgasm she has been grasping at for the last few moments.

“Zevran!” she whines and shifts her hips, upper body well and truly trapped against her bedsheets by Isabela who _tsk_ ’s above her.

“Kitten, if you cannot be quiet while Zevran is working, I will have to put your mouth to better use,” the darker woman tuts at her, one hand leaving her shoulder blades to instead caress her cheek and swiping away at the few tendrils of pale hair that has gotten stuck on her sweat-slickened skin. “Those lips of yours are positively _sinful_.”

Ellana’s eyes widen at Isabela’s words, her lips parting involuntarily, and Isabela lets out a heady groan at the sight.

“Andraste’s tits,” she sighs and grins cheekily at the lithe elf beneath her. “I might just put that mouth to work anyway.”

“By all means, ‘Bela,” Zevran grins from behind Ellana as he sinks another finger into the Inquisitor’s tight cunt, continuing to finger her relentlessly, even as Ellana’s whimpers and gasps are climbing in volume. “Teamwork is a virtue, yes?”

“I believe the original one was _patience_ , but fuck that,” Isabela snickers before she is leaning back once more against Ellana’s headboard, pillows prodded up by support her back, and spreads her legs.

Her hands have to let go of her back, but Ellana stays down as Isabela gets to work on her own boots once more, throwing them off to the side and finally spreading her legs in front of her as she shuffles closer to Ellana’s head.

This close she can smell Isabela, a heady, musky scent spiced with wine and salt, but what has Ellana start for a moment is the sight of the other woman’s sex. Her scent paired with the pleasure that Zevran keeps building between her own legs almost makes Ellana wish for it to stop, for her to get a small reprieve, but as quick as it comes, the idea disappears once more.

“Come now, kitten,” Isabela coos at her as she shuffles her lower half closer, her pubis curls teasing Ellana’s cheeks. “It doesn’t bite, I promise.”

Zevran is working another finger into her cunt by now, and the pressure on her clit almost has her seeing stars. She shrieks when he scissors his fingers inside of her and her entire body jerks as her orgasm finally wrecks through her. She feels slick being ejected from her cunt, feels it soak Zevran’s hand and drip down between her thighs.

She loves it.

She loves this feeling.

However, his fingers keep up their steady pressure, both inside and outside, and the stimulation they bring just keeps building. Ellana’s body jerks once more and she claws at the sheets with desperate hands, crying out as the pleasure begins to flood her. Again and again Zevran’s fingers move in and out of her cunt, his thumb caresses her clit and pleasure blooms again and again and again and again and _again_.

She comes again.

Isabela reaches for her hands at this points, and uses them to drag her closer, to plant Ellana’s mouth over her own sopping sex, and flexes her thighs.

Ellana looks up at her, eyes wide and teary from the pleasure that Zevran keeps inflicting on her cunt, her moans now vibrating across Isabela’s own.

“Lick, my pet,” Isabela orders and rolls her hips, her grip on Ellana’s arms tightening. “ _Lick_.”

And Ellana obeys.

Her tongue licks vertically from Isabela’s hole to her clit, and she moans at the taste and feel of it all, at the feel of Zevran continuing to fill and plowing her cunt with his fingers and the way Isabela’s hands tighten around her arms.

Isabela’s head is thrown back and the pirate lets out a loud, vulgar moan as the Inquisitor begins to eat her out. When Ellana’s tongue slips into her hole her thighs tighten, only serves to make it more intense when another shudder wrecks through Ellana’s body and the elf screams directly into Isabela’s sex. Her body grows taunt as the pleasure finally reaches a peak for her, and Isabela cries out as she too finally comes. Her slick is running down Ellana’s chin, is dripping onto the sheets, just as Ellana’s is.

The pirate catches Zevran’s eyes as she grinds her hips against Ellana’s mouth to ride out the aftershocks of her own orgasm and smirks at the sight of the unbridled lust that fills his eyes. The loose trousers he is wearing are tenting in the front, showing his erection and he licks his lips at Isabela’s stare.

All of his fingers are in Ellana now, with the exception of his thumb still planted on her clit, but he keeps looking straight at Isabela as he continues to finger the elf beneath him as he coaxes another orgasm from her.

Ellana’s body seizes from the sudden bout of pleasure, and her mouth is slack as she meekly pulls away from Isabela. When Zevran’s fingers slip finally slip out of her she lets out a whine, but she is too tired to do anything but lie there on the bed. Her legs collapse beneath her—that they have kept her up for as long as they have is a miracle in and of itself—even as her body keeps twitching from the aftershocks of everything.

Taking a step back from the bed, Zevran looks down at the two women in the bed with dark, lust-hazy eyes.

“Come, my sweet,” he croons at the Inquisitor as he gathers her pliant form in his arms and arranges her in his lap. His erection presses through the cloth of his trousers, pokes at her, but Ellana looks up at him with pleasure-riddled eyes. “There is still me to take care of before we can give you a reprieve.”

“I don’t think that I can,” Ellana shakes her head against his chest, “Please, I can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” Zevran chides gently and begins rearranging her so that her back is against his chest, her rear flush against his crotch. He presses a tender kiss to her cheek. “Just one more, and we will let you sleep for now, my dear.”

Ellana lets out a sob when he lifts her up to fumble with the front of his trousers, gets the waistband open enough for his cock to emerge. When he gets her down against his crotch she bites her lips and reclines against him as she begins to pant. His erection brushes against her sex, against her clit, and sends small spasms of pleasure up her spine.

“Isabela?” Zevran raises his head from Ellana’s neck to glance at the pirate who only laughs breathlessly and leans back against the headboard.

“You take care of that, I’ll watch for now. Kitten’s mine after her nap.”

Zevran’s chuckle was dark, promising pleasure and sex as his lips once more pressed against Ellana’s cheek. “Did you hear that, sweet thing? She is going to watch us as I fill you with my cock and pump you full of my seed. She is going to see every single expression you can make as I take you _and fill you_.”

Ellana is embarrassed to admit that his voice is like magic. She is tired and achy all over from the unfamiliar positions, her jaw tired from being grinded against by Isabela just before, and yet… Zevran’s words fill her with delight, with anticipation that she will get something more substantial than fingers to fill her cunt.

“Yes,” she sighs and her head falls back against Zevran’s shoulder, “Yes…”

His lips press against her cheek once more, continues up towards her ear where he begins to nibble along the outer shell of them once again. Ellana whines, rubs against the erection in front of her, and Zevran finally moves to lift up her hips once more.

If she thought that the following act would be gentle, however, Ellana is dead wrong.

He snaps his hips up, impaling her upon his cock, and Ellana _wails_.

The pace he sets is almost punishing as their hips snap together and she bounces up and down in his lap, gravity and his hands forcing her down, grinding her flesh against his, and bringing with it the most unholy amount of pleasure that Ellana has ever experienced before.

It climbs sporadically instead of the slow grind from before, as her inner muscles flutter, grasping desperately at Zevran’s cock as if to anchor herself upon it—upon _something_ , but always denied more than a few seconds before she is empty and then filled again seconds after.

In front of them Isabela is content to look at the two of them, a hand idly rubbing at her clit as she fixates her eyes on where Zevran’s cock is entering Ellana’s body, flushed and glistening with leaking precum. Zevran’s own groans and cries of pleasure intensify as he nears his own completion, and he finally forces her down on cock harder than before, grinding his hips against her ass, one hand wrapping around her upper body to keep her from falling over, while the other seeks her clit. Ellana’s moans are turning to shrieks and wails at his ministrations, her hips jerking as the pleasure builds to an almost uncomfortable level but unable to get away from the overstimulation as Zevran keeps a tight grip on her.

Suddenly tensing, Zevran’s hips continue grinding, but it is softer as he lets out a ragged groan and finally comes. Ellana’s motions soften as well as she is filled by his seed, eyes rolling back at the sensation of liquid warmth filling her sex. In front of them Isabela still has her eyes set on the two of them, a ragged moan on her lips as she chases her own release with growing eagerness.

The sight of Zevran slipping out of Ellana, his seed dripping out of the much smaller elf’s cunt, has Isabela’s sex tighten as she keens, back straightening and her toes digging into the stained sheets beneath her as her release finally erupts between her legs.

She falls back, breathing heavily as she stares up at the canopy above her with dazed eyes. As if submerged in water, Isabela is vaguely aware of Zevran dropping onto the mattress beside her with the Inquisitor still kept in his arms, heaving for breath and already half-asleep.

Isabela smiles, and closes her eyes.

…

When Ellana wakes it is to the feeling of fingers slipping in and out of her soaked cunt.

Her room is completely dark, the flames having long since burnt out in the fireplace, but a few slivers of muted sunlight slips in through the cracks between the curtains.

She is kept between two warm bodies—Zevran and Isabela, she slowly realizes as her mind wakes from the deep, dreamless slumber she’s been in for who knows how long—where one has a rather firm grip on her, while the other body is apparently wide awake.

“Mornin’, kitten,” Isabela’s voice rasps into her ear, followed by plump lips pressing against her own.

Ellana makes a soft noise at the sudden kiss, not at all used to the amount of pleasure and care that the two of them have shown her so far, but slowly relaxes into it all as Isabela’s wandering hands once more occupy themselves with her cunt.

She is still wet between her legs, a mixture of her own slick and Zevran’s seed, no doubt, but Isabela apparently cares little for such things as she thoroughly wets her fingers between Ellana’s legs before she begins to explore the region between her legs.

Unsure where she should place her own hands, and thoroughly distracted by Isabela’s rather… _skilled_ hands, Ellana hesitantly places one on Isabela’s side and begins to stroke it. She has never done this before, never with a woman, only and always with men, but Isabela’s skin is soft and warm, marred only by the occasional raised welt of scar-tissue here and there, and Ellana finds that she does not mind at all.

A pleased hum erupts from Isabela as she revels in Ellana’s soft, uncertain caresses. She removes her fingers from Ellana’s sex and instead yanks her hips flush against her own, grinding her mound against the still-sleep addled Inquisitor.

The pleasure is slowly waking both of them from their drowsy, lethargic state.

A movement behind her has Ellana momentarily distracted before Isabela’s lips demand her attention once more, breeching her mouth and playfully tangling with her tongue.

It’s a slippery and slightly wet affair that has Ellana gasp for breath every time that Isabela will let her and has her feel the tingles of arousal all over her body once more.

A groan escapes her unwillingly.

“Playing before I am even properly awake…” Zevran sighs behind her, his voice gravelly from sleep and Ellana shudders. “Such naughty wenches, both of you.”

“Quiet, you,” Isabela grunts after parting her lips from Ellana’s. “You said yourself that I would get my turn. I’m just a little early, that’s all.”

“Very cute,” the assassin snickers as he eases backwards to take in the sight of Isabela and Ellana entangled into each other.

Isabela rolls her eyes at Zevran’s antics as she gets a firm grip on Ellana and rolls them around, letting the smaller elf settle on top of her while she grasps at her hips from below.

“There, sweetling, I dare say this is a _much_ better view,” Isabela grin unrepentantly from below, white teeth almost shining in the darkness around them, and Ellana flushes from the hungry gaze the pirate shoots her.

She doesn’t say much, has barely been able to find the proper time or place for talking, and instead shyly rolls her hips against Isabela’s. The answering sharp intake of breath has Ellana send the pirate a smirk of her own before she can stop herself.

“Oh, so _that’s_ how we play, is it?” Isabela narrows her eyes, a playful expression only just visible in the faint light, before she lets the hand still soaked in Zevran and Ellana’s fluids slip between them, teasing both her own and Ellana’s clit.

Ellana gasps and leans forward, her clit sensitive and swollen from all of the earlier attention. It throbs between her legs, maybe even more so than when Zevran had his go at her, and she clenches her thighs as if wanting to close them, if only Isabela’s hips weren’t in the way. Zevran’s grunts of pleasure registers in the background and out of the corner of her eye she sees the shape of him clenching his erection in a tight grip as he stares at the two women.

“Let’s give him a show, what do you say, sweetling?” Isabela asks softly so as to not break the peaceful, safe little atmospheric bubble the three of them have created in here.

She waits for Ellana to give her a shy nod before she attacks, hand still tangled between their legs and pawing at their clits with varying amounts of pressure. She stills for a moment when one of Ellana’s hands collide into her own, eager to help, eager to please, before she focuses on Ellana, while the elf begins caressing at Isabela.

The motions for both of them are slow, unhurried as they chase each other’s pleasure. For both of them it rises higher and higher, both women rocking into the other’s soaked hand as their juices leak from sex to thighs. Their lips meet in a passioned frenzy, Isabela nipping and aggressive where Ellana is careful, submissive.

A groan behind them followed by a splatter of something warm and sticky hitting Ellana’s back signals Zevran’s end, and not long after both women scramble to find purchase on the other as they each are overwhelmed by the stimuli their mouths and fingers have given.

Exhausted, Ellana falls rolls onto her back, heaving for breath and soaked to the bone in sweat, seed and her own cum.

“I… can’t believe you… did that,” she spits out in between the heaves and shoves pathetically at Zevran and Isabela when they roll into her.

A cackle escapes Isabela as she turns around on the bed and wraps an arm around Ellana’s shoulders, drawing her closer to her bosom. “Quiet you. Word had it that you more than needed the rest.”

“Rest, yes,” Ellana chuckles breathlessly. “Getting fucked within an inch of my life? No.”

“I did not hear you complain, though,” Zevran muses from where the two women have left him, head propped up on one hand as he looks at the two of them. “Or am I mistaken?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Most certainly not,” Ellana grins at him before crooking her finger at him to beckon him closer. “Now get over here where I can kiss you.”

Her complaint was indeed satisfied.

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: “Inquisitor complains they never got a threeway with Zevran or Isabela”


End file.
